


Perdition, Catch My Soul: A Retelling of Shakespeare’s Othello

by thequeergiraffe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Endverse, F/M, M/M, Multi, please don't let the 'major character death' thing put you off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeergiraffe/pseuds/thequeergiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean were something else in this wasteland, two halves of the same beast, something lean and fanged and malicious...</p><p>--</p><p>It’s 2014, and most of humanity has fallen prey to the terrible Croatoan virus. Only a few remain, including the rebel soldiers who call Camp Chitaqua their home. Among the survivors are Sam and Dean, leaders of the camp and lovers on the sly. When word gets out about what the boys do in the dark, jealous tempers begin to take hold, and a nasty plot against them begins to formulate.</p><p>This fic is divided into acts and scenes that follow the ones in the play pretty closely. It’s not, however, written in play format. It’s also not necessary that you read the play first, or even really know anything about it. In my humble opinion, this story stands up pretty well on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perdition, Catch My Soul: A Retelling of Shakespeare’s Othello

**Author's Note:**

> Cast:  
> Sam as Othello  
> Dean as Desdemona  
> Yeager as Iago  
> Chuck as Emilia  
> Balthazar as Bianca  
> Bobby as Brabanzio  
> Castiel as Cassio  
> Risa as Rodrigo  
> and  
> Jane as Montano
> 
>  
> 
> There are some fundamental but necessary differences between this version of End!verse and the canon End!verse. 1) Sam and Bobby are both alive and well, and living at Camp Chitaqua. 2) Lucifer, in the beginning of this story, hasn’t been heard from since his vessel fell apart weeks before. However, the main objective in the camp is still to locate the Colt and use it to kill the Devil, whenever the opportunity arises. 3) Cas isn’t the only angel in the camp. Balthazar (for purposes of plot, and also just because I really like him) is there, also. He, however, has also “lost his mojo” and is, effectively, human. If you prefer to think of this as a parallel 2014 universe, you’re certainly welcome to do so.
> 
> [SPOILERS] Plot-wise, this story stays relatively true to the original play. There’s a taboo couple, a vengeful underling, a scornful father figure, jealousy, deception, and – as you’ll know if you’ve read the play – a heck of a lot of death at the end. To repeat, just about all of the characters die, so fair warning if that’s something you don’t want to read or can’t handle reading.
> 
> I’ve listed Sam/Dean for obvious reasons, but I’ve also listed Cas/Dean just to cover all my bases. Although nothing textual happens between them, there are some implications of potential and past feelings, as well as some confusion on behalf of the campers. To summarize, this is most definitely primarily a Wincest fic, but there are some hints of Destiel. The story is, after all, about a jealous lover. 
> 
> Also: the narrative is told through multiple characters, many of whom don’t look upon the boys’ incestuous relationship kindly. Expect some ill feelings and coarse language, especially in that regard.  
> [/SPOILERS]
> 
> And now to the story, at last:

**Scene I**

_Bang bang bang._

“Bobby!” Loudly, more insistently: “Bobby!”

Groaning, Bobby lit his bedside lantern and glared at the door. The banging and shouting went on and on, his twilight visitor growing more and more impatient. “Hold your damn horses,” he called out, his voice hoarse from sleep. The pounding ceased; that was better. With a huff, he heaved himself out of bed and into his chair.

“There better be Croats ripping the camp to shreds,” Bobby grumbled moodily as he swung the door open. He was relieved to see there weren’t, though, and that instead it was only Chuck and Yeager darkening his doorway, Chuck looking sheepish and almost cowering behind Yeager, who was scowling something fierce. “What do you want?”

Chuck cleared his throat and looked to Yeager, who squared his shoulders and said, with a hint of authority, “We’re camping out here tonight. The floor’s fine by us.”

“Like hell you are!” Bobby fussed, even as his chair was pushed out of the way. Yeager stormed inside, and Chuck followed nervously after him. “Hey!” he cried, wheeling along after them. “This building ain’t exactly public access.  What’s so wrong with your own cabin you two numb-nuts have to come wake me up in the middle of the godforsaken night?”

“It’s Sam and Dean,” Chuck said quietly. There was something about him that always reminded Bobby of a child, something sad and innocent about his too-big eyes. He didn’t look like a man who had somehow survived the end times. “They…Well, their cabin is right next to ours, you know…and, they…well…”

Bobby immediately sat forward, looking between the two of them sharply. “They in trouble?”

Laughing humorlessly, Yeager began taking off his boots, and motioned for Chuck to do the same. “They _are_ the trouble,” he declared, his jaw tight, as he set his boots aside and stripped off his jacket. “All that damn racket, every single night. How’s a man supposed to sleep?”

“What racket?”

Yeager gave Bobby a pitying look and stretched out on the floor, rolling his jacket into a makeshift pillow and placing it carefully behind his head. Chuck sat down beside him and looked up at Bobby in that melancholy way of his. “You must know,” he said, turning up the last syllable like a question.

Something cold and hard began to settle in Bobby’s stomach, a horrible creeping doubt long since pushed away and nearly (but not quite) forgotten. Even so, he frowned and wheeled himself back to his bed, complaining as he went: “I get you’re a prophet and all, but can we cut the cryptic bullshit for one night?”

“Jesus, Bobby,” Yeager swore, sitting up again to stare at Bobby incredulously. “Look, I get it; those boys are like sons to you. But even so, you gotta know what they’ve been up to. Hell, the whole camp knows. Just ‘cause we don’t talk about it don’t mean we’re too stupid to see it.”

“Or hear it,” Chuck quipped, somehow going even more wide-eyed.

Bobby ignored the churning in his guts and clambered back into bed, dragging his useless legs under the covers. “Ya’ll can tell me what exactly it is you think Sam and Dean are up to, or you can shut your traps and let me sleep. Those are your choices.” He reached for the lamp, but hesitated.

Yeager and Chuck exchanged a look. Chuck swallowed hard; Yeager met Bobby’s eyes. “Those boys are shackin’ up,” he said slowly, looking embarrassed, “in more ways than one.”

The sick feeling in Bobby’s stomach expanded, reaching into his throat and nearly making him retch, so that it was a struggle to say, “Speak plainly, son. Let’s not have any doubts as to what we’re discussing here.”

“They’re makin’ the beast with two backs, Bobby. Screwing each other senseless,” Yeager spat, as if he were afraid he’d lose the courage to say it otherwise. “And they have been for months.”

Horror. Disgust. Pain beyond description. Bobby hoped his face didn’t reveal the tumult of emotion sucker-punching him in the gut. He licked his lips, let out a slow breath. “You all are sure about this?”

Yeager gaped at him. Instead it was Chuck who found his voice: “Speaking as someone who’s seen a lot- I mean, _a lot_ \- of pornography…yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

Everyone winced simultaneously. For a moment they sat in silence, all of their eyes trained on the floor. Then Bobby switched off the lantern and settled back against his pillow, his blood roaring in his ears and his stomach twisting into knots.

“What are you gonna do?” Yeager asked into the darkness. The fact that Bobby had to do _something_ was taken as a given.

Bobby mulled it over for a second. His boys were headstrong, and they’d always had an unhealthy attachment to each other. The apocalypse had exacerbated things to the point that Bobby wasn’t much sure there was anything he could do. Still, he clenched his hands into his blankets and muttered, “Only thing I _can_ do: talk some damn sense into ‘em, I guess.”

Despite the silence in Bobby’s cabin, no one slept very well that night.

 

**Scene II**

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam said, smiling, as he ducked through the low doorway and settled himself down in a chair near the fire. “Cas said you wanted to see me?”

Castiel smiled too, the same dopey half-mad grin he’d been flashing at everyone since he lost his mojo. “Anything else I can do for you, Bobby? I live only to be your servant.”

Frowning, Bobby closed the book he’d been pretending to read (how could he focus? how could he think of anything but his boys climbing all over each other in the dark every night?) and gave Cas a look. “You could scram, for starters.”

Pretending to be wounded, Cas clutched at his chest. “That hurts, my friend.” To Sam he tipped an imaginary hat and bowed slightly. “I’ll be outside, then.”

Sam shook his head and gestured for Castiel to stay. Putting his hands on his knees, he leaned forward. “Cas is family. Whatever it is, it won’t hurt him to hear it.”

“You sure about that?” Bobby snapped, with a little more venom than necessary. The flash of worry that skittered across Sam’s features was hardly a reward though; the knot in Bobby’s stomach tightened, squeezed. “Okay, have it your way. I’ll just come right out and say it. I’ve been hearing things about you and Dean.”

From the doorway, Castiel let out a burst of laughter and then covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking. Bobby glared daggers at him, then returned his attention to Sam, who was the very picture of wide-eyed innocence. “What kind of things?” Sam asked, as if he didn’t know.

“The sort of things don’t bear repeating,” Bobby said gravely. If Castiel had giggled at that, Bobby might’ve tried to throttle him, but thankfully the ex-angel was silent.

Sam searched Bobby’s face for a long moment. “What kind of things, Bobby?” he asked again, his voice low and, to Bobby’s shock, vaguely threatening.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, boy. You really want me to spell it out for you?”

At that, Sam sat up straight and looked at Castiel. “Go and get Dean,” he ordered.

Cas nodded and headed out the door in no particular hurry, whistling jauntily as he went.

Once Cas was gone, Sam folded his arms and regarded Bobby strangely, a coolness in his gaze that seemed to have come with the Croats. “You know how Dean is,” he said, warningly. “He’s not going to want to have this conversation.”

“Then why bother him?” Bobby said, much more calmly than he felt. His heart was pounding something terrible, drumming away in his chest so hard he thought for sure Sam must have heard it.

Sam shook his head. “I promised.”

Rearing back, his stomach plummeting, Bobby breathed, “Promised? Oh hell, Sam, did he- are you- has he-” He paused and collected himself. “Son, are you being coerced?”

Sam barked a laugh that was three parts amused and two parts pissed off. Before he could say anything, though, the door crashed open and slammed shut, and Dean was stomping his way into the common area. “What? Cas said I’d better come quick.”

From behind him, Cas wiggled his fingers. “Hello, again.”

Ignoring him, Sam gave his brother a look that made Bobby’s face flame. “Bobby wants to talk. About us.”

To Bobby’s satisfaction, Dean’s own cheeks reddened slightly. His eyes were still glinty and fierce, though, when they settled on Bobby’s. “What about us?”

“Probably all the sex you’ve been having,” Castiel chimed in cheerfully, shaking a couple of pills into his palm. He waggled his eyebrows and swallowed them dry.

The room went deathly silent. Dean’s face darkened, and Sam’s jaw clenched. Bobby felt his stomach give another hearty lurch. “Oh,” Castiel said, after a long moment. “Did I say that out loud?”

That seemed to uncork Dean’s throat. He pointed a finger at Bobby and snarled, “Since when has what Sam and I do on our own time been any of your business?”

“Since Sam was in diapers!” Bobby shouted, losing the tenuous grip he’d had on his self-control. He slapped his hand against the bed uselessly, furious with Dean and Sam and his own worthless body, and Castiel’s wicked smile, and the titters of the campers in their bunks at night. These were his boys, his _sons_ , God damn it, and they were breaking his heart worse than any global zombie outbreak could have done.

Shamed into silence, Dean turned his eyes away. Sam, though, stood and crossed over to Dean’s side. “Dean’s right, Bobby. It’s not any of your business.” He nudged Dean with his arm and looked down at him with such tenderness that Bobby could hardly stand the sight of it. They loved each other; anyone who’d ever met them would know that. But that they were _in love_ with each other…how had Bobby missed something so monstrously profound?

Dean’s jaw flexed as he looked up at Sam. “Go ahead,” he said quietly, after a pause. “Tell him whatever he wants to know.” He made to move away, and Sam circled his hand around Dean’s wrist, pulling him back.

“Hey,” he said, releasing Dean’s wrist and touching his shoulder instead. “We okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. He pulled back again and shot a hurt look at Bobby, like all of this was somehow his fault, before stomping his way out of the room again. “Cas,” he called over his shoulder. He didn’t have to say anything else. Within moments, the two of them were gone.

Sam raised his hands questioningly. “Well?”

Shaking his head, Bobby took off his hat and twisted it in his hands. “No, don’t tell me any more. I already know everything I want to, and plenty I don’t.” He went on twisting his hat, then swore and dropped it, looking at Sam plaintively. “Christ, Sam, why? Why would ya’ll do such a thing?”

Huffing a laugh, Sam shrugged and nodded towards the door, towards the camp and the horror that lay beyond it. “Why not?”


End file.
